Dry Cleaning

The farthest thing from being focused. His mind. The farthest thing from being focused was his mind. His mind was the farthest thing from being focused. His palms were sweaty. Knees weak. Arms heavy. Then what was it? Something about spaghetti? He hadn’t had lunch this afternoon. He wasn’t much into Italian food. What was he doing? What was he supposed to be doing? Pick up dry cleaning. That’s why he was sitting in his car, stopped at the light between State and Williams. Yes that must be why. It was all coming back to him. Dry cleaning. Two shirts. Starched. Two pairs of pants. A suit and a blue tie. It had clicked, the gears were spinning properly again. But somehow he was still uncertain. It was like he’d come in to the right room but from the wrong door. The perspective was off. Dry cleaning? Why did he need two shirts?..read more

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